Whoever Said Quidditch Players Can’t Rock?
by katdance666
Summary: Still on the effects of spiked butterbeer, graciously supplied by the Weasley twins, one Oliver Wood is determined to prove the old phrase that ‘Quidditch players can’t sing’ wrong [unfortunately for him, through karaoke at his Hogwarts Gradparty…]KBOW


_Author's Note: Again, sorry for the slow updating on MM. And for all the pointless oneshots. Like this one. Am suddenly on a crazed diet of only Oliver/Katie fics. Strange… Warning: side-effects include inconvenient brain cramps, involuntary shaking, and darty, possessed-looking eyes. As well as rash and fanatical actions in writing evil, world-taking-over fanfictions. So kind of like a sugar rush. Anyway, this is another pointless procrastinating oneshot. And another chapter of each MM and MoaQT is on the way hopefully. Ahem. Family is out and I am determined to finish this! But anyway, just read and enjoy yourselves, satisfying your hyper Katie-Oliver ship-fantasies along the way. Oh, and sorry for the grossness of some parts (the toothpaste part made me feel quite ill – I'm not a big fan of toothpaste in general, but without it being on a toothbrush it is just plain disgusting), but it's all in good fun. Bubbles!_

_-Kat_

**Disclaimer: **Bwuahaha, I own Harry Potter and all the characters (including Oliver) and Quidditch teams and hotness and magic! And 'With or Without You' by U2! –wakes up- Oh. Damn.

**Summary:** Whoever said quidditch players can't rock? Still on the effects of that evening's spiked butterbeer (graciously supplied by the Weasley twins), one Oliver Wood is determined to prove the old phrase that 'Quidditch players can't sing' wrong; unfortunately for him, through karaoke at his Hogwarts Grad-party… Luckily, his resident knight-ess in shining halter top is there to drag him to the toilet bowl. OW/KB

Whoever Said Quidditch Players Can't Rock?

Ugh, he grimaced; kneeling with his head over the toilet really wasn't the way he had pictured his Graduation day.

Oliver Wood snorted at the way he must look. A handsome eighteen year-old in full Gryffindor graduation garb (itchy red gown and gold tasseled cap), sprawled on the seventh-year boys' grungy bathroom floor (seriously! He knew they were all slobs, but when was the last time it had been cleaned!), vomiting into the toilet bowl.

Oh well, he thought, surprisingly cheerfully; at least he wasn't wearing a gold gown and red cap, like the Gryffindor girls. At least _he_ didn't look like a drag queen.

He lifted his head and rolled over to a sitting position with his legs crossed. Okay, he said to himself, thinking over the events of last night. He had gone to the end-of-year-and-exams party for the fifth-through-sixth year students. The seventh years and his Quidditch team had been the rowdiest of the bunch (though, to be fair, when you have the Weasley twins and the Graduates on your side, it's hard not to be the rowdiest of any bunch).

Oliver thought about it and recalled what he could:

I walk in with some of my roommates, and they immediately wonder off towards the snack table. I have the try-outs for Puddlemere United's Reserve Team early this Summer, so I must watch my weight and avoid _all_ junk food, as opposed to the usual, avoid _most_ junk food. Merlin, I sound like a flippin' girl. Of course, not like the girls on my Quidditch Team, because they all eat junk food in front of me, just to bother me with the fact that we could lose at quidditch because they shouldn't be eating it, and they will most certainly get fat and not be able to fly fast any more, due to their unhealthy weight, which they will have gained just to spite me.

Needless to say, I look for something to distract my junk food-hating mind from itself and its junk food-hating thoughts. This distraction happens to be the decorations.

I look around with my mouth open. The downstairs of the Three Broomsticks has been remarkably transformed to resemble something of a snow globe. You know; those muggle decorations that you flip upside down, shake, and put the right way to make them snow.

The theme of the evening was supposed to be "Snow cones and Ice cubes", and Madam Rosmerta and the decorating committee have stuck like glue to that theme. There is pretend snow falling everywhere, not unlike dandruff on people's heads and shoulders, I can't help thinking.

The floor, walls, and ceiling are covered in a shiny white material. Whoa! If I move my head from side-to-side, the walls catch the light and it makes my head spin. Ohhhh, shouldn't do that, I think, massaging my temples…

"Bit early to be drunk, even for you, isn't it, Wood?" someone says to my left.

I turn around to see a Weasley twin. George, I think.

"I'm not drunk, you wanker," I reply wittily. Well, as wittingly as I can manage with my head throbbing like this. "But if you and your counterpart get your ways, I'm sure I will be by the end of the night."

Of course, I'm only joking - I don't drink except for a glass of wine at special occasions, and the odd firewhiskey when I need to wallow in self-pity. Like that time we lost to Diggory when Potter fell off his broom. On second thought, if I keep remembering _cheerful_ things like this, maybe I won't need prompting to get a little tipsy. Hmm… I think. I've never really liked the word 'tipsy'. It bothers me.

But back to the point: I'm joking when I say this, but then I see the look in George's eye, and fear for my safety.

He grins and says, "You know us too well, dear captain. It is my goal that, by the end of the evening, you will have humiliated yourself beyond belief."

It's scary, I muse as he jaunts cheerfully away, that I don't know if he was joking or not. I wouldn't put it past him…

But my pessimistic thoughts are interrupted by Angelina's timely arrival. It seems that she's later than I am, and I'm not sure I want to know why. What she and Fred do on their own time is their business, not mine. Unless, of course, they break-up while they are on the same team, in which case I will murder them both for putting their (or any) Quidditch team in jeopardy.

"Hey Wood," she says cheerfully. Good Merlin, I don't want to know why she's cheerful. "You clean up nicely. It sure is a change from crazy, psychopath, 'get-on-your-brooms-and-practice-at-five-in-the-morning-or-die', 'I'm-in-love-with-Katie-Bell', Wood. Though I'm sure the last part stays with you no matter what…"

I give her a small smile and am about to half-compliment her back, before realising the last part of what she just said, by which time she is already making her way over to her friends. I call "I'M NOT, JOHNSON!" lamely across the room at her back, but she ignores me. Bloody cow.

Oooo, I think, spotting the glass tables and chairs that have been set up to one side of the dance floor and stage. They've been covered with some sort of sparkly thing, making them look like ice (probably the idea, but I'm still too absorbed in bitterly thinking of plans to wake Angelina up at 4:30 in the morning as a goodbye-one-on-one-practice revenge scheme to come to that logical conclusion).

I head for a chair, where I hope to sit and scope out the crowded room for a certain chaser who shall remain nameless, while also pondering how wrong Angelina's random theory is. Cow.

Some poor sod has been bullied into trying Wizarding-Karaoke, by his girlfriend. Loser, I think. He's singing (if you can call it that) some sappy song about flowers by some lame girly band that his girlfriend likes. Can you say 'whipped'?

I casually glance around the dance floor, ignoring disturbing images of Percy and his girlfriend Penelope dancing. And touching while they do so. And there were Fred, George, Lee, and I, always thinking he was gay…

So Oliver, I think to myself – though that's kind of redundant, because you can't really _think_ to anyone else, can you? If you were a pretty, popular, blonde-haired, Quidditch-playing girl, probably wearing something that made you look really hot, and it was one of the last chances you would get to see your friends for a few months – despite the fact that your Quidditch captain would be leaving tomorrow; a day before all your other friends – where would you be, if not on the dance floor or watching the terrible karaoke?

Not that I'm thinking about anyone in particular…

I think about the question I'm asking myself for a few moments, and come to a horrible conclusion: the coat rooms.

In no such jealous rage as some people claim (falsely) to remember, I merely walk to the –ahem- bar… and get… side-tracked. By an invisible force. In the direction of the coat rooms.

I wrench open the first coat room door and am greeted by embarrassed squeals from who I take to be Harry's friend Hermione, and an annoyed 'piss off' from the twins' brother Ron. Awkward. I apologize and move on, shutting the door firmly behind me.

The next door lead to a rather scarring picture, of two Slytherins. Both of whom, I think, were male. I need to fumigate my eyes when I get back to the castle.

Geez, I think, as I approach the next door. How many coat rooms does this place have? No one has that many coats. Or customers. I form a theory in my head that Madam Rosmerta does a little more than hang coats in some of these rooms. Seriously; no one needs that many coats rooms.

Unfortunately, in the next room, my theory is proven to be correct. Who would have thought Madam Rosmerta would give _that kind of 'tip'_ to a _customer_ like Mundungus Fletcher, eh? Lee'll be jealous. He's fancied her for a while. Wish it had been him to see that, though. Not quite as pretty a sight as you'd think. Ew.

Oh well; with one door left, there's not that much of a chance it'll be who it could be. Again, I think, not that I have anyone specific in mind…

I push open the door breathing a sigh of relief in advance at my logic (for no reason, of course), and choke on it when I see who's kissing inside. The pair breaks apart and the guy clears his throat and loosens his tie slightly, nervously.

"Wood?" Katie Bell runs a hand uncomfortably through her hair. "What are you doing here?"

Okay, that would be the time to speak, I think. No Oliver; get the image of her kissing –ahem- _that guy_, out of your mind! OH, got it! Play the big brother card. The 'I-don't-think-you-should-be-doing-this-kind-of-thing' card. Gives an excuse and explains to her how she should stay away from boys. Well… some of them, at least. Like _him_.

Now, I think as Katie looks expectantly (and slightly embarrassedly) at me. Now is when I _should_ play the 'big-brother' card. Ideal time. Perfect moment.

"I'm looking for my… ummmm… coat!"

Or, I could say that. In a squeaky voice. But it's not that bad a lie; could have been a lot worse, I congratulate myself.

"It's 30 degrees, Wood; no one wore coats."

Or not. Am currently waiting for opportune moment to excuse myself from this awkward situation. Damn-stupid-arse-face Diggory is grinning sheepishly and pointing his eyebrow (don't ask how one can point their eyebrow; Diggory's a freak) in the direction of the door, as a subtle clue for me to leave. Well, I'm not going to leave if it would make him happy! I'm going to stand here all night if I have-

Dammit! Why do my feet seem to frivolously ignore the messages my brain furiously sends them! I'm now running as fast as I can in the opposite direction of the coat rooms. Damn coat rooms! Hmmm… Here I find myself; by the butterbeer bowls.

I look across the room to the coat rooms and, oh look, there's Katie – ahem - , I mean Bell. She's over there. Looking around. Is she looking for me, I wonder? Not that I care. Oh, there she goes. Over to Alicia and Angelina. Damn Angelina and her stupid theories.

I'm gonna look away now. Or in a few seconds… Okay, now. DAMNATION! Why does no part of my anatomy comply with any of the things I ask of it?

Butterbeer! I need to drown myself in the Butterbeer! Hehe. Well, I can't be too –ahem- _not_ bothered, because I find myself capable of making a joke. Or maybe not, it appears, as my foot seems to be on the table that holds the drinks bowl, as if I'm ready to climb onto it and stick my head in the creamy liquid.

I hastily pull my foot back to the shiny floor and brush myself off, while casually glimpsing around to see if anyone saw that. It appears I'm in luck: only an annoying fifth year (who is now giving me a strange look) saw, and anyway, he can be easily taken care of… BWUAHAHA!

Merlin, I sound like the Weasley twins! That's just scary, I think, undoing my top button as I'm finding it rather hard to breathe.

Uh oh! Why is Alicia looking over here? Why is she catching my eye? Why is she catching my eye and grinning evilly?

That can't be good.

I'm gonna drink some…

"SO, Ollie! My lovely little matie! Here, have a drink!" That would be Fred. Oookkaaayyy. Note to self: run and hide. His twin is now forcing a glass of iced-butterbeer into my arms. Awkward…

"What's wrong, little Ollie?" George asks, shoving me onto a chair and pressing the cold drink into my hands again.

"Nothing's wrong," I squeak, inwardly cursing myself for all the squeaking I've been doing this evening.

"Well," George starts with a glint in his eye. His brother chimes in next:

"That's not what-"

"-we've been hearing-"

"-from certain chasers…"

Damn them for finishing each other's sentences. As usual. I swear; they must practice in their dorm or something…

George interrupts my thoughts of eternal damnation for all members of the house quidditch teams. Especially Hufflepuff. And except… -ahem- a _few_ people… Like me. And…

"And we felt, upon hearing certain-"

"-stories… You might require some help analyzing-"

"-your –erm- feelings. Towards a certain chaser with-"

"Blonde hair. The analysis is this, my friend:"

"That you fancy dear Katie's socks off, and that-"

"-you wish five firebolts that it had been you in that coat room with her-"

"-and not 'Cedric-ruddy-Diggory'! We also felt that Katie-"

"-darling girl that she is- is a bit clueless when it comes to-"

"-erm-_recognizing_ your and her feelings. So we want to help her out a bit…"

I have been listening to this with a growing need to bang my head against something hard. Or pointy. Or both. Now my suspicions of the coming desperate necessity to bang my head against aforementioned hard, pointy thing are confirmed. When both Weasley twins are looking at you with matching innocently-evil gleams in their evil twin eyes, discussing how they want to 'help out' the girl you fancy – erm – are suspected of fancying, it is the ideal time to be severely frightened. Trust me; I've had experience in this field.

"Thanks for the thought, you two, but there's nothing amiss here. No mixed-up feelings whatsoever." I say, in what I hope is a cheerful and believable voice. "And I'm sure Ms. Bell doesn't need any help at all."

Damn. The Ms. Bell thing was probably my undoing.

"Amiss? Who says amiss, these days?" I hear one Weasley say to the other, before turning to me and surely making my night even worse.

"Well, _Mr. Wood_, I'm afraid you're a bit too late for the second part. We –ahem- took the liberty of-"

"-enlightening the beloved _Ms. Bell_, of certain 'supposed feelings'-"

"-before coming over here to enlighten you with the news that we've already enlightened her."

"Well said, brother."

Indeed, you prats.

"Thank you, brother."

Yes. Thank you so, very, very, very much you wankers.

"She's coming over here soon, so you can stare at her-"

"-as usual. Harhar."

They flounce off before I have a chance to get my mouth working long enough to yell at them, back to my chasers and seeker. Bastards. Miserable, evil, sodding gits.

But wait, I silently scream, only TWO of my chasers are over there! And only ONE is missing (which technically makes sense, as there are three chasers to begin with, and only two of them are over there…)! THE one. I have no idea why I capitalized that 'the'. Or indeed, why I capitalized anything at all, as this is being _voiced_ in my _head_… Or indeed, why I am surprised that she is not there, as the evil twins just told me they sent her over here.

So, back to the problem at hand. The twins have single-handedly (or double-handedly, as there are two of them) ruined my 'play-it-cool-around-the-chaser-everyone-mistakenly-thinks-you-like' plan. Well… I may have helped them a tiny bit, with the whole incident in the coat rooms, but let's never discuss that again.

Anyway, I don't know where Katie Bell is, I think frantically as I take a swig of iced-butterbeer. Oh, wait a minute, I realize with a jolt. There she is. And I think she's making her way towards ME through the packed dance floor. Well… She's looking right at me. And looking rather… ummm… un-ugly, if I do say so myself.

Her trousers are rather –well- tight. In just the right places. She looks very pretty. DAMNIT!

"Hey," she says quietly, reaching me at my table. She sits down and I brace myself for a stern or uncomfortable 'Were you spying on me, Wood?' It doesn't come. Thank goodness.

"He-" I start, but it comes out in that now-familiar (dammit) squeaky voice, so I clear my throat and try again. "Hey back."

"So," she says. Now I brace myself for the stern or uncomfortable 'Were you spying on me, Wood?' It doesn't come either.

"Hey, Oliver?"

At this use of my first name, I choke on my glass of iced butterbeer. Of which I have taken all of two sips. I turn the choking-hacking cough into another clearance of my throat, and she pats me on the back, making me tingle at the close contact. Oh Merlin, I did NOT just say that.

I look her straight in the eyes and she's just there, staring prettily back at me. Okay so maybe the twins have a point about me staring… And maybe they have a point about everything else, too… I'm mentally slapping myself. How could I be so stupid as to fall in love with her? She's my chaser! She's pretty, popular, smart, younger than me, surrounded by guys… Heck; I just caught her in a coat room with one! Even if there was a chance of us getting together because she liked me back (which will never happen, by the way), and we did go out, it would completely screw up the team if we broke up. Which we would, because she doesn't like me that way. Which would also mean that we would never go out, making the last part of that spiel redundant.

"D'you wanna dance?" she asks, a shy smile creeping along her perfect features.

What kind of question is that? I just followed her (slash 'semi-stalked' her) into a coat room, caught her snogging flippin' pretty-boy-Diggory, ran away like a little girl (or boy – my preschool teacher always told me never to discriminate…) with pigtails (I've never seen it, and I doubt you have, but it's still possible for a little boy to have pigtails… Must have some pretty screwed up parents, though…), and she's asking me if I want to dance? Who does that? I think again. She's stopped smiling and is looking embarrassed at my lack of a response. Why didn't she say something that would make both of us extremely uncomfortable? Who just randomly asks some who has done all of the previously mentioned things if they want to dance? Wouldn't you expect them to address you oddly formally and say something awkward in an embarrassed and uncomfortable manner? And not to ask you to dance? That's just Katie, I guess.

Due to my prolonged silence, Katie makes to get up, a blush tingeing her usually-pale cheeks.

"Sure," I blurt quickly. A look of relief flashes briefly across her face. I stand and she offers me her hand. I take it and she leads me silently onto the dance floor.

Whispers break out as we pass each group of students. I can see the twins grinning proudly in our direction, and shoot them the dirtiest look I can manage whilst I have the girl of my dreams in such close proximity to me.

Just as we reach a clear spot on the dance floor, the music changes to a slow song (which Lee Jordan and some pretty Hufflepuff are singing karaoke to – if I ever make it through the night, I make a mental note, I must tease him for actually being able to sing).

We stare awkwardly at each other, so I take a hint from all the other pairs who are putting their arms around each other and move closer to her. We both reach out awkwardly at the same time to put our arms around each other. I rest my hands on her waist and she slips her arms around my neck. We step closer to each other. Well. This is awkward.

I put my arms all the way around her, and she moves forward again. She gives me an uncertain smile, which I return.

We just move slowly to the music, looking directly into one another's eyes. Gradually, as the song continues, she moves forward again and rests her head on my chest. I rest my head on her head (a lot of resting going on, but it is more tiring than it sounds), and breathe in the sweet, cinnamon-apple smell of her hair.

The song changes to a faster one. After we've been dancing for about a minute and a half (not that I've been counting, or anything), and I've exhausted my supply of dirty looks to shoot at the rest of my Quidditch Team, Katie lifts her head and I look into her eyes again. There's a gleam in her eyes that I haven't seen before. I can see her head tilting towards mine, and mine feels an invisible force (much like the one that lead me to the coat rooms, but let's not think about that…) that is pushing it forwards. She closes her eyes and just as I'm about to kiss her…

Diggory interrupts. Git. I can see the girls trying to restrain Fred and George. Git-ettes. I don't care if they punch his lights out. Now he has the nerve to talk to Katie! Double git!

"Mind if I cut in?" he's asking, not specifically to Katie, and not specifically to me.

I'm about to say, "Well, actually, I do. So bugger off you stupid wanker!", but her doesn't wait for an answer. The git just swoops in and swirls Katie off to the other side of the dance floor. She shoots me an apologetic look from where she is now, but doesn't make any sign of movement towards where I'm left standing, alone, on the dance floor.

I take deep breaths to stop myself from punching something (or more specifically, some_one_), and stalk back to my seat, where my iced butterbeer is still waiting. I pick it up and down the whole glass in one. Hmmm… That made me feel… Happy! Strange.

Hey, look. Here's Lee. He's walking over to me.

"Hey, Wood," he says sympathetically. "Sorry about Diggory. I was trying to distract him 'cause he wanted to interrupt. It worked for a while. Then I had to resort to magical-gluing his backside to his chair. He made me switch trousers with him. Forcefully."

Lee turns around to reveal black trousers with a large hole in the bottom. He's wearing boxers with snitches flying around on them. I snort. Then I remember my own flying-snitch boxers. Snort retracted. He knows how to NOT make me feel better. And he should work on his distracting skills. But he's a good guy. And at least he has a hole in his arse to show for his pitifully-badly-timed-distracting-skills.

"Here," he says, handing me another cup of iced butterbeer. "Drown your sorrows some more."

I take the glass grumpily and down it, too. Then I grin evilly (the twins must be rubbing off on me) and bring up an interesting subject that I had made a mental note to bring up with him earlier this evening.

"So, Lee," I snigger, "You never told me you could sing."

He remains calm, but I see a faint redness creeping out over his cheeks. Heehee. And that's hard, because his skin is really, damn dark. Therefore, the changing of his face colour to a light colour (such as pink, red, white, or sickly puke green), is more difficult than it might be for others.

"Well…" he coughs.

"And that was quite a girly song, wasn't it? By an all-girl-band, wasn't it?" I press further. I'm starting to enjoy this and forget about Katie. Until I just brought her up to myself. Anyway…

"I suppose you could say that I was better than some…" he says sheepishly, handing me another glass of iced butterbeer.

"Better than most, I'd say," I say, taking a swig. "Better than the twins, even."

Of course, I have never really heard the twins sing, and he knows that, because they don't make a habit of singing to their friends and quidditch captains (well, to my knowledge, anyway). But it just seems like a random thing to say, pointing out that none of his friends are good at singing; girly songs or no.

His answer surprises me:

"Well, of course I'm going to be better than them, Wood. They're Quidditch players; I'm only a Quidditch Commentator."

He looks at me like I'm a stupid four-year-old. I blink. He continues to look at me like I'm a stupid four-year-old. I blink again.

"Huh?" I say. Not quite the 'intrigued-but-cool' phrase I was going for.

"Honestly, Wood, call yourself a true Quidditch player," he shakes his head.

I say "bite me" in a snappy, girly tone and demand he explains what he's going on about. Honestly, I sound like my Aunt Gertrude. And that's not a good thing, I think, finishing off my third cup of iced butterbeer.

"Well, everyone knows that Quidditch players can't sing!" he snorts. I look affronted. For some unknown reason, this statement seems to have really offended me. I'm taking it personally. I have a headache, and I say that I am 'going to prove you wrong, you know-nothing git, because we Quidditch players can completely sing your socks off any day, Jordan'. Of course, I have no idea what I'm talking about, but I start to move through the crowd towards the karaoke stage. Then I stop, realizing what I'm doing.

I'm pathetic, and this headache is making me want to do strange, rash things. Then I see Katie and Diggory, still on the other side of the dance floor. She looks rather miserable, but then he kisses her and I'm in a blind rage. I just start pushing people aside as I resume my mad dash for the karaoke stage.

My headache is worsening. I'm having a bit of trouble climbing onto the stage, so I grab a fifth year (the same annoying one from earlier, so I will regret nothing), shove him over and stand on him, then clambering from his back onto the stage. Hey, at least I'm on the stage.

I push some person in the middle of a song off the stage (roughly; I don't know or care who he is), and ignore the fact that lots of people have stopped dancing and talking, to gawk at me. I'm obviously still in a visible blind rage. And my headache, the cause of which is still unknown, definitely isn't helping my vision.

I find myself suddenly saying loudly into the magical microphone "Jordan, this is me proving you wrong!" Then I look at the 'Music Dude' (self-proclaimed; no one can help him!) and exclaim "With or Without You, U2!"

Hey, I think when some git in the crowd laughs, U2 isn't bad. That, and, with a splitting headache like mine, it's hard to pick a song that will make me seem in the least bit cool or respectable, so I randomly picked the song that would maybe symbolize how I feel about Katie. Accidentally, of course.

The music starts and I look at the words being magically written in the air before me (Lee Jordan is high-fiving the Weasley twins in the crowd, but I think nothing of it), and I sing the first words of the song.

"See the stone set in your eyes  
See the thorn twist in your side.  
I wait for you.  
Slight of hand and twist of fate  
On a bed of nails she makes me wait  
And I wait without you…"

That would be me. Singing. Or… er… trying to. Everyone has stopped what they were doing now, and they are all gawping mindlessly at me. Come on, I can't sound that bad…  
"With or without you  
With or without you."

Or, alternatively; I can. Don't get me wrong – I mean, my voice has never been amazing, but it's not bad enough to be painful, either. I'm just having trouble hearing. And seeing. And walking straight. What's wrong with me? I think as I plough on through my song, my Scottish accent becoming sort of slurred into a weird-sounding-speech-therapy-requiring-monosyllable. Apparently some girls are finding the sudden abnormal-deepness sexy. They're whistling and catcalling. Oh Merlin, please tell me I did not just see Angelina and Alicia catcall. Fred and George are looking grumpy, so I assume I'm right.

Unaware of what the Hell I'm doing, I start to untuck my black jumper as I sing the next verse. I am unaware of most specific people around me, but I do vaguely see the outline of Katie in the crowd. She looks about as confused as I feel. Well… From what I can see of her pretty features, anyway…

"Through the storm, we reach the shore  
You gave it all but I want more  
And I'm waiting for you."  
Why? Why in Hellfire am I pulling my jumper over my head. And flinging it into the crowd! I am going to need so much therapy if I remember _any_ of this… I think.

Now I am officially woozy. And standing here, on the stage, in a tight undershirt. That could be cutting of the circulation of blood to my brain. The shiny-ness of the floor and ceiling isn't helping the sudden dizziness that is threatening to engulf me.

"With or without you  
With or without you.  
I can't live with or without you..."

I can here my voice trail away. I think I'm hallucinating.

Yup, I think; there's Fred Flintstone in the corner. Yes, I did watch muggle cartoons once when I was little and I went over to Katie's for a 'grown-ups party' and they needed something to occupy 'us kids'. I could think of something more enjoyable for Katie and I to occupy our time with… Hehe. No, bad Oliver! That's it, I decide. I've really lost my marbles. Oliver has left the building…

And there's the bass-player from the Weird Sisters. And Dumbledore wearing spandex. Ew. Not something I needed to see. Ever.

I now cannot control my thoughts or mouth (or vision, it seems, as the room comes in and out of focus). I think I figured that out when I started to strip… Nevertheless, this feeling is sort of liberating. I find myself longing to do a stage dive. Now, in any sane state of mind, I would have been able to tell myself that this would obviously not end well. But am I in a sane state of mind? I think not.

Or at least, that's the answer I'm choosing to use, as I find myself launching myself off the stage. Now, usually, when people do stage dives, they are exhilarated, but can still judge depth, measurement, and WHERE THE HELL PEOPLE ARE STANDING OR – more specifically - _NOT_ STANDING! Not so me. I dive off the stage over to an area where no one is standing. Silence echoes (though how it can _echoe_, when it's _silent_, is beyond me) around the room as I hear my body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Some people gasp and many guys groan sympathetically.

I hear quiet but quick footsteps coming towards me, where I lie. Hopefully I am dying, because my head is throbbing like there's no tomorrow.

I raise my head slightly at the sound of someone quietly saying "Oliver?"

I see two of the most lovely people I have ever seen in my life bending over me. Well, one, if you don't count the second Katie Bell that is hovering in and out of my focus. Her halter top is shiny silver material, making my head spin even more.

"Katie," I murmur, my words slurring involuntarily, and, I think, in the wrong direction, "I-love-both-of-you."

I open my mouth again to say something charming and romantic that will most definitely make her forget all about wanker-Diggory, but all that comes out is a hurried "I-think-I'm-gonna-throw-up".

She says nothing, but grabs me by the shoulders, and hoists me up, supporting most of my weight as I stumble along beside her. She's probably only able to support most of my weight because of the intense-training-sessions that I demand from my team; the ones that the whole team – especially Katie – grumble incessantly about. Boy, does she owe me!

Now I find myself kneeling on the bathroom floor of the Three Broomsticks. Katie is beside me, rubbing my back with one of her soft hands as I puke into a toilet. Her other hand is clasping my own. Not quite the situation I pictured first holding her hand in, but I'm not complaining…

I lift my head to look sideways at her. Bad idea. New note to self: when puking, always remember to keep head poised over the _toilet bowl_. Do not move head from said position, no matter how attractive the other view might seem.

Five minutes later, I am feeling a little better, and decide that I can lift my head to look at Katie. Again.

I turn and she smiles slightly at me, looking rather pale.

In a quiet voice, but the most beautiful thing I have ever heard, she says simply "I think the Weasley twins spiked your butterbeer".

I nodd, as that would make sense, due to my actions of this evening, and it seems like something the twins would do. Remind me to kick them off the team (we've already won the cup, so it makes no difference to me…). Gits.

Uh oh, I think as I catch sight of Katie's shiny halter top again. Head-spinning. Eyes-rolling. Brain-fading…

I promptly pass out and whack my head on the bathroom floor in the process.

…

Well, thought Oliver with a frown, it seems that public- well, as clean as public- loos are quickly becoming my new place to 'hang'. Someone must have carried me to Gryffindor Tower last night after I passed out in the bathroom.

I bet it wasn't the Weasley twins, ungrateful wankers! They're almost as bad as sodding Diggory. Actually, I'd say they're about even. Snogging Katie; getting me drunk and therefore forcing me to sing, strip, profess my undying love for a girl and the image of her that I am hallucinating, and throw up all in one evening. Yup, even.

But the Weasley twins are in my own house, therefore they are easier to maim. I think I'll go and have a look for those two lovely lads.

Ah, screw this… I'm gonna hunt 'em down, rip their heads off, and impale the remainder of their bodies on the top of the Astronomy Tower!

He stumbled slightly as he clambered up from the floor. He then washed his face (well… he tried to, but all he was really capable of doing, was splashing the wall behind him, as the hangover was affecting his aim) and cleaned his teeth until the nasty taste was out of his mouth (squirting toothpaste into his mouth, swirling it around, and spitting it all over the sink).

Next, he decided that he was ready to hunt down the Weasley twins, and he wrenched open the bathroom door. Thundering down the stairs, he spotted his prey (s) across the Common Room, chatting up Angelina and Alicia.

He clenched his fists and caught the twins' eyes, a manic and murderous gleam in his own. They looked at each other, and then back at Wood, backing away slowly until they hit the wall. Wood smiled demonically at the sight of the two red-heads huddled in the corner, each trying to push the other in front. The girls looked quite startled at Oliver's odd and homicidal behaviour.

Wood hissed towards the twins: "I hate you two", and looked quite Satanic. So much so, that the twins couldn't even make any jokes. They just continued their mad scrambling, trying to climb the wall.

Just as Wood was rolling up his sleeves evilly (momentarily forgetting about the fact that he could use a wand), Katie came down the stairs and jumped at seeing him right in front of her.

For a second, he forgot all about murdering two of his so-called-friends, and concentrated hard on not blushing. Katie, whose face had turned rather pinker than usual smiled shyly at him, and, to everyone's surprise – especially Oliver's – stood on her toes and kissed him softly on the mouth.

She pulled away and looked at him, as if waiting for a response. Oliver grinned like a madman, and pulled her back to him, breathing in her sweet, apple-y scent like oxygen. Katie smiled too, and Alicia, Angelina exchanged smug looks with Harry, who was watching from across the room.

Oliver stepped away from Katie for a second. She looked nervous for a second, so he shot her a reassuring look and whispered "I'll be back in a sec, love".

He then turned around and headed for the Weasley twins again, in their corner.

Fred and George twitched in unison and recommenced their scrabbling unsuccessfully up the wall.

Oliver grinned and walked towards them.

"I love you two…" he said, smiling and ruffling their hair and giving them a group-bear hug. No one noticed the large 'kick me' signs he had stuck to their backs with a subtle, non-verbal, permanent-sticking charm.

They collapsed in shock (and relief of not being brutally murdered) and Oliver walked back over to Katie, leading her out of the portrait hole, smiling all the while.

…

That night, back at the Burrow, two red-headed tricksters were lying in bed, both very, very bruised. They had trouble finding comfortable positions to lie in, due to all the bruises, while a certain Quidditch-player and Hogwarts Graduate was sleeping elsewhere with a large smile still plastered to his face.

"People are too violent in this day and age, don't you think, brother?" one twin said to the other.

"Indeed I do, brother. What is our world coming to?"


End file.
